


Rick Grimes Is A Thot

by charrrmed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-24 15:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16642556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charrrmed/pseuds/charrrmed
Summary: Exploring a season 9 where Rick didn't go missing and was around to devour his pregnant wife in all his thotish glory.





	1. Chapter 1

Rick Grimes is an inspirational leader who can inspire the most reticent individual to take up a weapon and fire a shot or the most battle-hardened warrior to put down their weapon and focus on constructing the future.

Rick Grimes is a caring leader who feels his people's losses. A devoted father who worries about his children and basks in their triumphs.

Rick Grimes is a fighter who has time and time again made a way out of no way, valiantly trekking from King County, Georgia to Alexandria, Virginia, withstanding all manner of horrors.

Rick Grimes is a survivor, a visionary-

"Rick Grimes is a thot," Michonne deadpanned as she munched on a carrot, a hand on her hip.

"A what?" Ezekiel asked as he looked up from his speech.

He and Michonne were isolated in his office. He wanted her to hear part of the speech that he'd prepared for the bridge completion ceremonial dinner. After the Saviors had walked off, it was the Alexandrians, Kingdom subjects, and Hilltop citizens who had completed the bridge, with the Alexandrians providing most of the workforce, and the Hilltop providing the least, because they had the smallest population.

"A thot. The kids came up with it," Michonne explained. "It means that hoe over there. Henry says they just came up with it out of nowhere."

"They're reviving slang? Oh my God," Ezekiel said, rolling his eyes.

"But you know, it's pretty impressive," Michonne admitted. "Kids are wonders. I think there's also something to be said about language: that they're effortlessly evolving it the way everyone before them did, even without much exposure to what we had before."

"But Rick," Ezekiel said, frowning. "You said he's a hoe. He's cheating on you?" He couldn't fathom the notion.

"Oh, no. No, no," Michonne said, quickly shaking her head. "He's all over me. Which is absolutely not a problem. Except for when it is a problem."

* * *

"It's pretty much a problem," Rick said to Carol while she poured over the seating arrangements for the ceremony. She would be done already, but people kept coming up to her with problems regarding the food, the furniture, and the decorations.

She and Rick were sitting in a corner of the cafeteria, which was currently being transformed into something more befitting of a ceremonial dinner. Rick was balancing the chair on its two rear legs, his arms crossed.

"I don't know why he didn't just let you guys host the dinner," she griped, referring to Ezekiel as she stared at the seating chart.

"Well, my first idea was to not celebrate at all, just do a quiet acknowledgment and opening of the bridge," Rick said, sitting back on his chair with his arms crossed. "But Michonne thinks there should be a celebration. Unfortunately for you, The Kingdom is closest to the bridge. But back to my problem."

"Problem?" she asked as she looked at him sideways, amused. "You're attracted to your very pregnant wife. That's every pregnant woman's dream."

"My timing sucks, though," he said, chuckling. "Well, I mean it sucks for her. It's great for me."

* * *

"Once I started making headway on the charter, I had to start hiding from him," Michonne told Ezekiel.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit?"

"For the last time, no. I get restless when I sit. My stomach's not too heavy for my legs, I promise."

Ezekiel smiled. At six months pregnant, she wasn't big at all. She was still muscle, just a pinch softer.

"If I had this office, I would get heart palpitations every time someone opened the door," she shared as she turned back to look at the entrance.

The King's cherry desk was situated in the middle of the room and faced the door. It sat atop a plush black carpet. The rest of the office was decorated with three tall bookcases, a large oval mirror, beautiful red drapes that bled into black at the bottom, and small statues of angels.

"It's indicative of the trust I have in my people. And the knights who guard the door. You hide from Rick?"

"Not that I have many places to do it. I'm basically at the church or one of the few empty houses we have left. Or I go out into the field."

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes. "Are you hiding, or are you making it interesting?"

Michonne blinked. She reached into the plastic bowl on the desk and grabbed another carrot.

* * *

"There's just somethin' about her bein' in the zone. It's always been that way, if I'm honest, even way back at the prison when she'd be creating her routes to go look for the Governor, or when she'd be killing walkers at the fence."

"Killing walkers at the fence?" Carol asked incredulously, breaking her concentration again. "God, you're cheap."

"It was the worst when we were Constables."

"Seriously?" Carol asked, laughing. "I'd never thought about Michonne being a beautiful woman until I saw her in that uniform. Because that uniform was ugly," she enunciated for Rick's benefit.

"It was better than the Stepford uniform you'd decided to wear," Rick shot back. "But seeing her in uniform, patrolin'…yeah. That did it for me."

"Weren't you after Jessie at that time?" she asked as she returned to the chart.

"Yes, but I wasn't blind."

"That's a contradiction, Sir. We're gonna need so much security for this shit. Between Oceanside and the Saviors…It's stupid that I have to miss this because I have to babysit those idiots. And where are we with Oceanside?"

"That's a question for Maggie," Rick answered dismissively. "I'm not gonna have anybody at my table who's unfoldin' the shit I'm tryin' to fold."

When Carol raised her brows, he explained, "Judith used to do that. Michonne or I would be folding laundry, and then we'd turn our backs to put some away, and she'd be shakin' out what we just folded. She's grown out of it. I expect the same from grown folks."

Oceanside was invited to the opening of the bridge. Every community was. But the ceremonial dinner was invitation only. And neither Oceanside nor the Saviors were invited. Rick had personally wanted to keep Daryl off of the list, but it would be good for the man to see what had been accomplished despite his misgivings.

And Rick couldn't complain about Alexandria supplying the most workers for the bridge, really. It gave him and Michonne a lot of leverage in the collaborative discussions.

"So are you the reason we don't have the bridge toll worked out yet?" Carol asked.

* * *

"I cannot imagine that if you put your foot down, really put your foot down, and told Rick to leave you alone, because you are very busy, that he would not listen. So I ask again," Ezekiel said, his eyes full of mirth, "Are you hiding or are you making things interesting?"

Michonne took a deep, dignified breath. "These endeavors are very stressful."

"Oh, so you just showin' off, then," Ezekiel said, breaking character. "You just wanna talk about how much you been getting' sexed."

" _Listen_ ," Michonne said, grinning. "Like the bridge toll that we're trying to come up with? I can't sleep. The council's opinions just repeat on a loop in my head. I _dream_ about this stuff. It's a lot of pressure, and…to be honest, I don't want to come up with anything that somebody's gonna change later on."

"Change is an inherent part of progress," Ezekiel said sagely, back in character. "You literally cannot progress without change."

"I know that. Another council can change it after I'm dead," she offered graciously.

Ezekiel laughed, his rich tones filling the room. "Ego and pride. They goeth before the fall, Michonne."

"I'm not falling anywhere."

"Except on Rick's huh huh huh, apparently," he muttered, making her laugh.

"It's perfectionism, I guess, which, I know, is just as bad. But coming up with the charter was my idea. I worked on Alexandria's draft by myself, with Rick's input, before I offered it to our community. I'm leading the council for the multi-community draft. Well, Alexandria is, but, you know, me. Making people pay some kind of toll for the bridge was my idea. I put together that council. Whatever we come up with needs to be…"

"Perfect," Ezekiel finished for her.

"Nearly flawless," she edited.

* * *

"I think that I'm an essential part of her work process," Rick decided.

"Really," Carol deadpanned. "Like you're essential here? You're just sitting there."

"I don't just sit there with Michonne. Or if I am, she's sitting on top of m-"

" _I_ am living in the Sanctuary, far away from Ezekiel. This conversation is cruel and unusual punishment, and I do not like you that much, and I do not want to hear any more."

Carol gathered her papers and promptly left, throwing a bitter look Rick's way while he laughed at her.

* * *

"Can we get back to important matters?" Ezekiel requested, shaking the papers that held his speech.

"Do I get to hear the part of the speech that you wrote about me?" Michonne asked.

"No. Your _thot_ gets to hear that part."

Michonne smiled. "Proceed."

**Fin**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all. Thanks so much for enjoying, favoriting, following, and reviewing this fic! I had more ideas about a pregnant Michonne and Richonne, so I'm opening this story to explore them. I'm starting it off with (what was supposed to be) a one-shot I wrote at the end of season 8 but hadn't published yet. All chapters are connected and aren't standalones. Happy reading!

_Two Years Ago_

"Come on. Maggie, King Ezekiel," Rick called to the other leaders above Maggie's pained cries.

Michonne let Maggie go, and Maggie was off like a shot, her strong legs carrying her to meet with Rick and the leader of The Kingdom. And Daryl, who hadn't been called. And Rosita, who also hadn't been called. And Jesus.

Daryl expected Michonne to be in the uneven circle. Instead, she was heading to Siddiq and Negan, who were under the tree. To finish the prick off?

No. Her gun was at her side, and her sharp eyes were trained on the mashup of fighters and losers instead of the uneven circle they were forming. Which told him that she and Rick had planned this.

Or not. He couldn't say with them. Their communication was always tight, especially when it counted. Especially in battle. Anything they hadn't communicated out loud, they simply...knew. Knew what to do, knew how to play off each other, knew what the other needed.

Whether Michonne had known that Rick planned for Negan to live or not didn't matter. His chest burned with impotent anger and the feeling of betrayal.

Rick strategically placed himself so that he was facing Negan, Siddiq, and Michonne. So that when Maggie got in his face her back was to Negan, which would slow her reaction time if she tried to impulsively do anything to the leader of the Saviors.

"We are _not_ doin' this," Maggie seethed, her eyes blazing fire in Rick's direction. Blood was rushing so loud in her ringing ears that she could barely hear herself.

"We are," Rick said calmly.

"No!" she screamed. "He killed Glenn! _You_ are not doin' this!"

From the line of fighters, Alden watched the circle. He itched to join them, to back Maggie up, to further prove that he wasn't a Savior anymore, that she could trust him. But there was Rick. He also needed Rick to trust him. He wanted to shed the enemy coat, shed Negan.

It was best to stay out of it. As it was, Maggie was still feeling him out. Trying to back her up would probably backfire. He was not allowed to have a dog in this particular fight.

Back in the circle, Daryl, who was standing to Rick's right, quietly opined, "You're not fuckin' serious."

"Rick, he killed Abraham," Rosita reminded him, standing between Daryl and Maggie. "Maggie's right: this is not your decision."

"It isn't," Rick agreed, ignoring his throbbing, bleeding right hand and the burning wound on his left side where Negan's bat had broken skin. " _I'm_ not doin' this," Rick assured Maggie. " _We_ are. _We_ are deciding together-"

"I decide that he's _dead_ ," Maggie seethed. "And if it had been Carl, if _he'd_ killed Carl, or _Michonne_? You wouldn't be standin' there-"

"No, _you_ would be," Rick countered gently. "At least I hope. I would be you, and I hope you would be me."

Glenn would be him, too. Rick knew it. Carl's wishes for the future echoed sentiments that Glenn had tried to drill into his head more times than he could count. Glenn had lived these sentiments, forgiving Nicholas after the man had tried to kill him. Rick had been as flabbergasted by that level of magnanimity as he'd been about Carl's during the last two weeks of his life.

Glenn and Carl's voices were practically interchangeable now. But he knew better than to say that to Maggie.

"Explain this, Rick," Ezekiel pronounced, standing to Rick's left.

"Negan is the worst of us," Rick explained. "The _worst_. He _needs_ to die. But at some point, we need to be _intentional_ about what we're fightin' for. We need to set a precedent. We can't be buildin' communities but fightin' like we're still lookin' for a place to live. He's _done_. I know life or death, and this ain't it. We can't act like it is, not when his people have surrendered and he's alone. If we're rebuildin' society, then we rebuild all of it. We set a precedent."

" _After_ him," Maggie said.

"You mean worse than him?" Rick asked with a tilt of his head. "That's what we're talkin' about. What do we do when we get our way? If we're takin' the responsibility to rebuild, then we need to take the responsibility for justice. Order. Law. This is bigger than him. We can _make_ it bigger than him."

After all of the gunfire, and screaming, and yelling, and fear that began two months ago, the silence following Rick's explanation was heavy. Disarming and uncomfortable. It pressed on Maggie's lungs.

"I ain't for it," Daryl grumbled.

"Neither am I," Rosita stated, her jaw tight.

"How long have you been aware of this decision?" Ezekiel asked evenly.

Rick shook his head. "I've been aware and unaware of it. I didn't make it until…"

Until Negan said that Carl didn't know shit. But he wasn't going to tell them that.

"Until after I cut 'em. I don't know if Siddiq'll be able to save 'em. I didn't cut 'em with any kind of plan to...but if he _can_ save him, then this is our choice. The _three_ of us," he said pointedly.

"And what, we're gonna welcome his people with open arms, too?" Rosita asked.

"They already have a home," Rick said, his gaze flitting between her and Jesus, who was standing between Maggie and Ezekiel. Rick needed to speak to Father Gabriel to be sure, but he was including Eugene in that lot. He didn't care about what Eugene had done to help. A rat changing directions in time to save their hide didn't impress him.

Ezekiel observed Rick and saw a man who wasn't one hundred percent convicted in what he was saying. The fact that Rick seemed a bit hesitant in his decision to spare Negan's life convinced Ezekiel to consider his proposition. Rick's hesitation told him that he was genuine.

Ezekiel's chest rose as he took a long, reflective breath.

And Maggie's stomach dropped.

"I think further discussion is needed about how to proceed," Ezekiel decided.

Maggie raised her eyes to the heavens to control her tears. Daryl and Rosita began to shake their heads.

" _If_ Siddiq can save him," Ezekiel continued, "Then I think there is merit in discussing a more...humane way to treat him."

" _Humane?!_ " Maggie exploded.

"I apologize for the word, Maggie, but it is correct. Negan could still die, either from his wound or from the decision we make after further discussion, but Rick is right. We do need to be intentional about what we are building if there is any hope of it being sustainable. That is a greater challenge than simply fighting and surviving. It is a nobler one."

The inferno in Maggie's eyes could burn Rick alive. "You're wrong. Both of you."

She left the circle and so did Jesus.

Daryl shook his head at Rick in clear disagreement and left, too.

When Rick looked at Rosita, she said, "Fine."

She departed, and it was just him and Ezekiel.

Ezekiel looked over at the group under the tree that barely afforded shade. He began walking to them, and Rick fell into step beside him.

"Who will keep him?" Ezekiel asked.

"We will," Rick answered. "Morgan built a prison in Alexandria a couple of months ago. We can hold him there after he heals."

"So it shall be. I certainly wouldn't want the burden of guarding against any calamities that may befall him," he told Rick stoically as they came to a stop next to Saddiq, who was still working on Negan.

Rick understood Ezekiel. He was warning him about potential attempts on Negan's life.

Ezekiel glanced beyond Rick to Morgan. Some of the crowd's eyes were on Maggie as she griped to Jesus. They surely wanted to know about the parts of the meeting that they hadn't been able to hear. Others were looking at Rick, Ezekiel, and Negan. Morgan was one of them. The news that Morgan had once built a prison reminded Ezekiel that the man had been a completely different person when they'd met.

A light nervousness danced in his belly as he shifted his gaze from Morgan to Michonne. Rick was right. They needed to be intentional about what they were building. He, a Black man, was going to lend his voice to reset the standard of how law, justice, and punishment were applied in America.

Or at least this corner of it.

* * *

Michonne was running on fumes by the time they returned to Alexandria. Her sweat had dried on her, and she had a headache. She would've loved to have rested her tired body on a real bed at Hilltop for one more night, but that wouldn't have been wise under the new circumstances. Had they spent the night, she would've slept with one eye open. Or maybe she wouldn't have slept at all. Maybe she would've insisted that she be one of the people to stand watch in front of Negan's door.

But there had been hours of daylight left after the logistics had been worked out at Hilltop about who was going where, and Rick had said that they should drive back. She had nodded. He'd then waited, waited for her to say more. And then he'd moved his mouth as if he was going to say more. And then he'd nodded, too, and they had collected Judith and begun preparations for the trip back.

Now she was standing in front of Alexandria's gates. It was stupid, because the gates weren't guarding anything. There was nothing behind those walls. Those useless walls. Nothing except Carl's handprint.

She turned to face the faceless bodies moving around her. A part of her recognized that there wasn't anyone that she really trusted. Daryl stayed Hilltop with Maggie, as did Rosita. She didn't know what Carol was liable to do if she gave her the responsibility. The only person she trusted was Rick, but Rick was busy giving cleanup orders. Morgan was out of the question.

There was no one else. So, she took it upon herself to guide the transportation of Negan from the caravan to one of the houses that was still standing. She helped set up a makeshift infirmary with medical supplies that Maggie had begrudgingly donated. She assisted Siddiq as he tended to Negan. No one else was allowed in the room, except for three of Ezekiel's trusted Knights. Siddiq would see the injured Alexandrians after he stabilized Negan.

By the time Negan stabilized, her head was throbbing, and her eyes were so dry that it hurt to blink.

"I know I asked before, and I know you said no before. But you can take a break. I've got it. I won't let anything happen to him."

Jerry. He'd been telling her to take a break. Insisting on it, even though his tone never lost its gentleness. She was ready to take him up on the offer.

She slowly turned to him, her body coiled. Her voice was low but crystal clear. "If anything happens to him, I will hurt you."

Jerry nodded. "Nothing will happen to him."

She didn't know if he'd be able to hold that promise, but she was ready to leave.

She stepped out of the infirmary and was met with pained faces and questioning eyes. "He's stabilized," she said as she made her way through the crowd. "Siddiq will be able to see you soon." Turning to the two Knights from The Kingdom who were guarding the door, she raised her voice and instructed, "Check for weapons again before anyone steps inside."

The farther she got from the infirmary, the more trouble she had breathing. She felt like her lungs weren't taking in enough air. She kept her eyes low, not wanting anyone to approach her. She saw the questioning glances in her peripheral. Her steps were certain as she walked to their house. Or what was left of it.

When it appeared in her line of sight, she broke into a run, her feet heavy. With a grunt, she leapt over the porch steps and turned right. And there they were: Carl's handprints.

She expelled a shaky breath and gingerly walked over. She lowered to her knees, her eyes glued to the pair of blue hands. Slowly, she extended her two hands and placed them on top of his. The dried paint was scratchy, the boards dusty but surprisingly smooth. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the last time she'd held Carl's hand.

It had been when he'd laid dying. She'd cherished the miniscule strength he'd used to squeeze her hand as life had slowly seeped out of him.

And before that?

She couldn't remember before that. She'd squeezed his shoulders plenty of times after changing his bandages. Had hugged him regularly. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd held his hand. Maybe two years ago?

She'd taken so much for granted, and she hadn't even noticed it. Death was a merciless bitch who cruelly revealed how complacent she'd gotten.

The floorboards creaked and protested, alerting her to a new presence. She opened her eyes and looked to her right. For the first time since the battlefield, her shoulders relaxed.

Rick joined her on the floor, dropping down heavily, as if he, too, was relaxing for the first time that day. Unlike her, he sat cross-legged. Michonne shifted, bringing her legs around so that she mirrored his position, resting her forearms on her knees.

"What are we doing?" she asked him. "What was that?"

Rick shook his head, his eyes affixed to Carl's hands. "If one more person asks me that, I'm gonna say fuck the whole thing and let y'all have your way with him," he said impatiently. "The last thing I want is to answer for that man."

"I protected him!" Michonne reminded him sharply, her eyes watering. "I took _care_ of him for an hour and a half. I took _care_ of him, Rick."

Rick looked over at her, her emotions pulling his to the surface. He swallowed, trying to find his voice. "I'm sorry. I should've asked someone else."

"You didn't ask me. That's the point. You didn't have to. Who else were you gonna ask?" she asked on a humorless chuckle. "There's no one here," she said as she looked at the people picking up rubble.

"King Ezekiel's here," Rick said without conviction. "He'll be here for some days while we put things together."

Michonne imagined them putting things back together with years old glue: shoddy and liable to fall apart again. She remembered Deanna's plans for Alexandria, the woman's hope and enthusiasm. It seemed delusional now. Like death, reality was also a bitch, frequently laughing at their _plans_.

"I don't wanna do this," Rick said quietly, tears pricking his eyes as he looked at what was left of his son. "I wanna…I wanna go inside with you and Judith and let them figure it out."

Gone was the man who'd authoritatively decided on the way to go. In his place was a man who was tired of holding his head up to look ahead.

"Come here," Michonne beseeched as her own vision blurred, already pulling him to her chest.

Rick tucked himself into her embrace. Slowly but surely, his body slackened. Slowly but surely, he let go, crying on her neck as all around them, Alexandrians and royal subjects cleared the way for whatever was next.

Rick and Michonne crying on the porch did more than another speech about the future ever could. Alexandrians and Kingdom subjects alike passed the crying couple as they worked. With each passing, the questions and whispers about Rick's proclamation quieted.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Now _

"Alright," Rick said, wincing as he straightened from the table around which his coworkers were standing. "That's about it from me. We got anything else for the good of the order?"

Tara turned to Daryl, her movement jerky. Rick moved his attention to the man and watched him chew the inside of his mouth, his perpetually sunken eyes on the work schedule.

Rick looked at Tara, who raised her eyebrows at Daryl expectantly. He looked at Carol, and she shrugged helplessly, her arms crossed. She was obviously in on whatever it was.

Jerry, however, looked just as clueless as him.

"Somebody wanna say somethin'?" Rick asked the tent.

"Uuuh," Daryl stalled awkwardly, quickly rubbing his thumbs against his index and middle fingers.

"For God's sake. There's a prostitute in the camp," Carol blurted.

Rick was silent a moment, his brain throwing around the words he'd just heard before accepting them. "There is a _what_?"

* * *

Unbeknownst to Rick, Michonne was holding her own meeting a few feet away in another tent at the work site. She was sitting at a round table with Maggie, King Ezekiel, Cyndie, and Alden. And she was doing her best to remain diplomatic.

"I have no problem signing the agreement," Maggie said. "When the bridge needs maintenance in the future, every community should step forward to repair it. That makes sense. Where I'm hesitating is this toll you're proposin'."

Michonne wanted to say that all Maggie ever brought to the damn table was hesitation. Maggie had been hesitant about building the bridge in the first place, hesitant about trading with the Sanctuary, hesitant about Negan, hesitant about continuing to build the bridge after the Saviors had walked off and Michonne had kicked Oceanside off the project, and on and fucking on. Sometimes, Michonne felt like she and Rick were dragging Hilltop into the damn future.

Sure, Maggie had abandoned her plan to kill Negan when she'd seen what the man had been reduced to. However, her desire for revenge and killing the past instead of processing it had set off a sequence of events that had sent Rick into hypovolemic shock due to severe blood loss.

Michonne herself was trying to process the past, hence biting her tongue and controlling her impatience for Maggie's reluctance. Because every time she saw Maggie, or Daryl, or Cyndie, she saw Rick lying helpless in the infirmary. Every time she heard their names, she remembered Maggie telling Siddiq that Rick's blood type was A Positive and realizing that she was not a match. She remembered Rick's body rejecting the first two transfusions. She remembered the words _possible organ damage_ falling sympathetically from Siddiq's mouth.

All of that, because those three had decided that they were _done talking_. Maggie and Daryl's involvement cut her the deepest.

She twitched her head to get a loc out of her line of sight and counted to three before responding.

* * *

"A prostitute, man," Daryl said.

Rick stared at him. Then Tara. Then Carol. Then Jerry.

"Hey, I have no idea what they're talking about," Jerry said.

"What the fuck, man?" Rick asked the group. Just when it seemed like he was getting a break. "A _prostitute_?"

"It's the oldest profession," Carol said, shrugging.

"Yeah, _profession_ ," Rick said as he leaned his hands on the table, agitating his wound. "These guys have nothing. What the hell are they trading? And how do you know this?" he asked Daryl.

"Overheard some of the guys talkin' about it. After that, I started lookin' closely at some of them, and I recognized the signs. Lookin' all happy. Merle used to deal with prostitutes. They're givin' her food."

" _Food?_ " Rick asked incredulously.

"It's been a long project," Daryl said.

"We're pretty sure it's someone from the Sanctuary," Carol said.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," Rick said in exasperation as he straightened.

* * *

Michonne placed a hand over her belly, the cotton material of her dress soft beneath her hands. "It's a smart way to encourage trade _without_ waiting until communities are at a deficit to ask. It's a great incentive for communities to keep producing where they're strong: high-grade weapons _and_ protection from Alexandria, vegetables from Hilltop, fish and seafood from Oceanside, fruit, potatoes, construction material loaned from The Kingdom. We do this monthly. This way everyone knows what's expected of them, and there are no surprises."

"But there are surprises," Maggie countered. "We know that. We've seen that over and over again. What happens when, not if, but _when_ Hilltop runs into crop issues-"

"You're coming from a place of lack," Michonne said.

"Yes, because it's realistic."

"And keeps us at a standstill. So, when it _looks like_ Hilltop will run into crop issues, you'll talk to us about it, and we'll figure something out."

Maggie held Michonne's eyes, but trepidation clawed at her. She was always afraid of her people not having enough. She was deathly afraid of failing them.

* * *

Rick wondered why the hell this was happening now. The bridge was done. All that was left was making absolutely sure that it was safe for use. Yes, it had withstood a herd of walkers. But _people_ were going to now use it. He wanted to ride or drive all manner of horses, carriages, cars, and buses on it until he stopped being afraid that the bridge was actually slowly falling apart and it just wasn't obvious yet.

"I can't blame her," Tara said of the prostitute. "Things are looking bleak for them. No one wants to touch them. She's securing her future, making sure she won't starve."

"Can't you take care of it?" Rick asked, gesturing to Carol, the shells on his bracelet clinking quietly.

"How?" Carol asked. "I can't make them come together if they don't want to. I can't force them to do anything they don't want to."

"You been singin' the same song for months."

"It's a damn good song, Rick," Carol said, standing her ground. "You don't know what it's like in there."

"If we want to turn the Saviors around, then Michonne should lead them," Tara said.

Silence dropped into the tent like a boulder. Daryl, Carol, and Jerry's eyes snapped in Tara's direction then cut to Rick. Rick's body tightened so severely that it proved difficult to move his throat to talk. His ears were hot.

"You wanna run that by me again?" Rick rumbled slowly, eyes thunderous, voice lethal.

"Oh-"

"Yo, think about your next words very carefully, friend, cause if something pops off, I ain't in it," Jerry advised Tara.

"No, oh my God. No," Tara stuttered as her eyes bounced around the table. "I don't mean _now_. God, she's like sixty years pregnant. I meant-"

"After the baby?" Rick rumbled. "When we have a newborn? Or maybe when they're a toddler."

"She offered to-"

"Let me stop you while you're behind. Michonne leading the Saviors wadn't an option at the beginning, and it for damn sure ain't one now, not after you, Maggie, and Oceanside messed things up," he said, briefly switching his attention to Daryl. "She ain't stepping in to fix anything. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," Carol said.

"Been clear," Daryl answered.

"Tara brought it up," Jerry said pointing at her.

"I'm sorry I did," Tara said timidly, her arms crossed.

But Rick was revved up. "You and Maggie found out the Saviors had a target on their backs," he said to Daryl, his voice rising, "And instead of fixing it, you turned a blind eye, which ended in a shoot-out that set us back in more ways than one."

"Set us back?" Daryl asked. "Man, let's not do this."

"And now we got a prostitute," Rick said, ignoring that the man had spoken. "Maybe instead of trying to throw Michonne at the problem, you can try not leadin' the Saviors like they're a lost cause," Rick said to Carol. "You say they don't wanna come together, and I don't know why they should when y'all make it clear through word and deed that you don't wanna come together with them. Michonne ain't swoopin' in and fixin' shit."

No one formulated a response. Everyone except Jerry felt like they'd been reprimanded. They were annoyed, but they didn't have a good comeback that wouldn't result in Rick jumping down their throat. They _were_ annoyed about having to deal with the Saviors. They didn't feel like they should have to invest in the band of murderers and conquerors.

Jerry was the one who spoke. "So what do we do about the prostitute? I mean, is that still illegal?"

Rick breathed out of his nose, wrestling with himself to let go of Tara's insulting suggestion. "Nah. I'm not gettin' in the weeds with people about their personal lives. So long as it doesn't interrupt what we're doin' here."

"What about diseases?" Jerry asked.

Rick cocked his head in Jerry's direction and put his hand on his hips, wondering why the man was making his life complicated.

"I mean, we've developed some weird strain that keeps us alive after we die. Do we wanna find out if we've developed weird STD strains, too?"

Rick's skin crawled at the thought. "I'll make an…All Hands announcement reminding the guys to…pull out. Goddamn it. Meeting's adjourned," he decided, and he headed out of the tent.

"Maybe we can raid the nearest Planned Parenthood and get condoms," he heard Jerry saying before he tuned him out.

Tara was hot on his heels.

"Hey, Rick. I'm sorry about that back there. You're right: it doesn't make any sense. The timing's not right. I wasn't thinking. Hey," she said, grabbing his arm to make him face her.

Rick focused on his breathing as he looked down at her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I would _never_ want to put her in danger. I misspoke."

He nodded. "I know."

"We're cool, right?"

"Yeah. Just think next time."

"Yeah, especially since you're in papa bear mode," she said, which earned her a tiny smile from him. "Uh. Listen. Can we talk about Oceanside?"

"No," Rick said with a roll of his eyes and resumed walking.

"I'm working on Cyndie," Tara said as she tried to keep up with him. "You're gonna have to talk to them at some point."

"That point is not based on your schedule."

"They fucked up, and I get throwing them off the project. I don't know about not inviting them to the dinner, especially-"

Rick stopped walking and faced her. "You know, in the old world, when one country fucked up with another country, when they betrayed their _allies_ , they got sanctioned. Oceanside's in the same boat as the Saviors as far as I'm concerned: unwilling to try. You keep working on Cyndie-"

"Hi, daddy!"

Rick turned to the familiar voice, a mixture of confusion, joy, and fear filling his heart as he spotted Judith in Nabila's arms.

* * *

In the other tent, Michonne's meeting continued. Although, she was about done with it.

"What about the Sanctuary?" Maggie asked, her sharp eyes on Alden. "What are we requiring of them?"

Michonne grinned. "I don't know. Ask Cyndie. The Saviors can provide fuel, and they were on board to do it. Rick was…he was getting through to them. You should've seen it. A lot of them were grateful to him. I'd bet it's why they were willing to be the bulk of the work crew, even though they didn't like it. And then Cyndie decided that whatever gains were being made weren't worth it."

Cyndie met Michonne's gaze, unflinching.

"And you condoned it," Michonne said to Maggie. "So, _you_ three can decide what's required of the Saviors."

"We're holding on to the ethanol," Alden declared. "It's the only way I've been able to keep them quiet for all these months. And I don't disagree with them. You guys have shown that there isn't much in this for us."

"From where I'm sitting, Alden, y'all should be benefitting the least from this," Maggie said.

"From where I'm sitting, you shouldn't _be_ at the table," Cyndie spat at him.

"Most of the people at the Sanctuary now are _workers_ ," Alden stressed. "Not soldiers."

_Hi, daddy!_

Judith's voice stole Michonne's attention. That was her cue. "Let me know how it goes."

She stood from the chair, still getting used to a new way of moving now that her stomach protruded more.

Ezekiel would give her a rundown of whatever she missed, which would probably be a bunch of snapping with no conclusion. She didn't need to be around for that. It had been three weeks since she saw Rick. It was show time.

She straightened out her new dress and made sure her engorged breasts were perfectly displayed. Then she exited the tent.


	4. Chapter 4

_ Two Years Ago _

Michonne’s head popped up as soon as he opened the door

“Tell me I woke you,” Rick said as he set the lamp on the floor.

It was almost three o’clock in the morning, and he was coming off of night watch at the infirmary. He began taking off the gun belt to get ready for bed. Or rather, the floor.

He’d hoped that Michonne would be awake, and he’d hoped that she’d be in a deep, dreamless slumber. He’d found the former, while Judith was next to her, doing the latter.

“I’ve been in and out,” Michonne explained as she sat up. “Mostly in. I can’t sleep, which sucks, because I need the energy for debris removal tomorrow.”

“Leading this town means we don’t need to do everything,” Rick reasoned as he leaned against the wall to take off his boots. “Debris removal should be low priority for the two of us. Tara’s doing a good job of leading it. Aaron’s outlining a plan to fix what can be fixed and rebuild what needs to be rebuilt.”

“I am not standing in front of that infirmary all day. We told him we were going to build something good, something he wouldn’t get to be a part of. I’d rather focus my energy on that,” she said as she drew her legs up and hugged them.

“Is he why you can’t sleep?” Rick asked as he took off his tan shirt.

“Yes and no.”

Michonne watched him undress. No matter how she was feeling, she could not resist tracking every inch of skin that he revealed, skin that appeared less pale under the warm light of the lamp.

“I’m comfortable with your decision,” she said. “Our decision, now. You’re right that we need to start somewhere. But I’m on edge. I just want something to pop off already. And I’m sad. Of course,” she said with a heartbroken smile.

Dressed for sleep, Rick kneeled and gingerly lifted Judith from his side and moved her closer to Michonne. His little girl knew how to take up space. She stirred but didn’t wake.

“Was she any trouble?” he asked as he settled into his spot.

Michonne laid on her side. “Of course. I don’t think this is going to go as smoothly as it did at Hilltop. She’s bougie and prefers a mattress under her. We’re going to have to return her to her crib soon,” she lamented.

“You started out sleeping in a box, young lady,” Rick informed his daughter.

They watched Judith’s stomach rise and fall, steady and effortless, both experiencing a range of emotions, some about Judith, most about Carl. From the moment they’d returned to Alexandria, Rick had moved Judith from her crib so that she slept with them. They clung to their last remaining child.

Rick dragged his eyes over to Michonne. He was thankful to share these moments with her. They hurt as much as they comforted. He cupped her face and caressed her apple cheek with his thumb. He traced her brow bone down to the side of her eyes.

Michonne covered his hand with hers, then followed a path down his arm to his shoulder, then further up, her fingers creeping into his curls and gently scratching his scalp until his eyes became heavy with sleep.

As much as they hurt, they comforted.

* * *

 

“Wait, wait!” Michonne exclaimed as she ran to the opening door, her locs bouncing on her back.

She reached the threshold and blocked Rick before he could step inside in search of lunch. “Welcome home,” she said, her gloved hands braced on either side of the door.

Rick noted that they weren’t her regular gloves. They were construction gloves.

He looked into the abode behind her. It belonged to the Monroes. He had moved them there temporarily, because their home had been deemed unsafe for continuous living.

“Hi,” he greeted apprehensively. He had a headache that was sitting right on his eyes.

“I just wanted to…I wanted to prep you before you saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“I sawed off the part of the porch that had Carl and Judith’s prints. Saved it.”

“Saved it?”

“I didn’t want you to walk in and just see it on the island.”

Michonne squinted. Because he was squinting.

“We should move in here,” she said. “Father Gabriel’s right: as Alexandria’s leaders, we should live in the biggest house.”

“This house is cursed. Everybody who lived in it died. We can turn it into somethin’ else. Maybe a bigger infirmary.”

He stepped forward, thinking that would make her move out of the way, but she remained rooted.

“I’m going to use some of Jessie’s tools to smooth out the wood, and…I’m thinking of hanging it wherever we end up.”

Rick’s lip curled. “Like some kind of shrine?”

The question jostled the pieces of Michonne’s heart. “Like a _memory_. Of your son.”

“We have his hat,” he said with a dismissive throw of his hand.

“Excuse me?” she whispered.

“Michonne,” Rick said patiently, briefly closing his eyes. “I have a headache, and I’m hungry. Can you please move so that I can go eat?” he asked. He stepped to his right, but she blocked him there. He stepped back and stared at her, his lips tight.

“Carl left this for us,” she reminded him. “Just like the letters. He did this on purpose. So that we could have it.”

“Have it? It’s just gonna get blown up like everything else, or maybe we’ll need to get out of here, and it’ll get left behind.”

“I don’t _care_. I wanna keep it for as long as we can.”

“I---”

“This isn’t about you,” she said, looking at him through disbelieving, watery eyes. “He left this for me. For us. For Judith. I am not throwing it away.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I’m not leaving it behind either. We’re _fixing_ it, and we’re _keeping_ it,” she said, her lips trembling.

Rick blinked back tears and shook his head, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this right now. I just want to eat. Please. Let me in.”

The corners of Michonne’s lips turned down, and she slumped on the doorframe on her left.

Rick walked past her and went to the kitchen. He came upon the board and froze. His blue eyes bore into Carl’s handprint. Judith was constantly saying his name. She couldn’t pronounce the L, but she said it.

Michonne stormed past him and grabbed the board. She solemnly walked it to the basement, where it was dark, where things were dusty, where there were cobwebs, where they weren’t even sure what was down there, except that there were no walkers.

That was where she placed her boy.

She stood the board on a table, angling it so that it wouldn’t slip and fall. The board was jagged on the sides, from where she’d sawed. It was full of splinters. It was ugly and imperfect, unlike her boy. It held nothing of his essence. And yet, it was one of only four things that she had: this, his letter to her, his picture, and his hat.

She crossed one arm over her stomach and rested her elbow on her fist. She stared at his handprint. She stared hard. Studied it. Burned it into her memory. Because Rick was right. There would come a time where this would either burn or they would have to leave it behind. Or, even more cruel, they’d have to use it as firewood to keep warm.

She studied it in preparation for the day that she would lose it. She studied it so that she wouldn’t be caught being complacent.

Rick’s footsteps sounded on the cement stairs, and she stiffened. He came up behind her and placed gentle hands on her shoulders.

“I don’t need it,” she said, sniffling as she shrugged away from his touch.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. “But I will never let you do this alone. I’m here.”

He brought himself closer to her until his chest touched her back, and he grasped her shoulders again.

Michonne sagged heavily against his chest. And a miserable sob wrenched its way out of her throat. The broken pieces of her heart vibrated roughly, cutting her up and bringing her pain to the surface.

“Come here,” Rick said.

He turned her around, and she buried her face in his neck, seeking refuge from sorrow.

“I know,” Rick said as he secured her shaking body. “I know.”

His own anguish churned.

* * *

 

“Come on in,” Rick said, waving the bewildered Alexandrians inside of the church. “It’s alright. Come on in.”

He and Michonne were standing on the stage.

And Negan was sitting between them, his wrists zip tied to the chair.

The Alexandrians cautiously trickled in, whispering. Most had to stand. Among the Alexandrians stood Eugene. Rick’s decision to kick him out of the community had been soundly reversed by arguments from Father Gabriel and Eugene himself. Rick had no respect for the man, but he couldn’t deny the engineering advantage that Eugene provided. Eugene wanted to live in Alexandria above all other communities. Rick had concluded that it was because Eugene knew that he had the greatest chance of survival wherever Rick was. Eugene had shamelessly confirmed as much.

Rick and Michonne looked at each other over the chatter. He raised his eyebrows, and she answered with the same gesture.

The whisperings about the decision to keep Negan alive had quieted, but they had not disappeared. Rick had come up with the idea to have a town meeting to talk about it and give everyone a chance to air their grievances. Michonne had come up with the idea to put Negan on display.

The defensive body language of their people reaffirmed for Rick that this meeting was a good decision. Hands on his hips, he began.

“I thought it would be a good idea for us to talk about this, since we’re the ones who’ll be keeping him. If you have any questions, or if there’s anything you want to say, now is a good time to say it.”

The Alexandrians looked at each other, hesitating.

Negan stared at them, attempted to make eye contact with each one, found amusement in the ones who avoided his eyes.

It was Tara who spoke up. “For how long? I mean, is this a death sentence?”

“Life imprisonment,” Rick said.

“Life?” Nora asked. “So we have to keep _feeding_ him?”

“We didn’t imprison him so that we could starve him to death,” Rick pointed out. “The three communities decided---”

“With all due respect, Rick, the three communities didn’t decide,” Tara said. “The way Jesus told it: you decided, King Ezekiel agreed, and Maggie was outnumbered.”

“So we decided,” Rick restated plainly, keeping the ruder responses that had popped into his head at bay.

“What about Oceanside? They didn’t get a vote. You guys came back to Hilltop with everything all worked out. There aren’t just _three_ communities.”

Rick had quite honestly forgotten about Oceanside in the heat of the moment. “We wanted to beat Negan, and that’s what we did,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

Michonne raised her brows.

“I’m sorry, but it’s bullshit,” Tara maintained. “We wanted to _kill_ him. _That_ is what we wanted.”

“We wanted to _beat_ him,” Rick repeated. “We wanted to make it so that he didn’t have any power over us. You’re right: we all thought that meant that he had to die. But it doesn’t. Yes, I decided. And the King agreed. And Maggie _understands_ enough that the issue is settled.”

“Keep in mind,” Michonne interjected, “That this meeting isn’t about changing our minds. We aren’t revisiting the issue. We are looking _forward_. We are reordering things. We are reestablishing law and order. Some of you were around when Deanna Monroe led this place. Her vision for the future wasn’t bad. It just lacked nuance. It didn’t account for the Negans of this world.” She shrugged. “Or, I guess it did a little bit. She did bring us in,” she amended as she looked at Rick.

Nora spoke up again. “We’re tempting fate. The day he heals, we are so dead.”

Rick looked at Michonne, and she smiled.

“I understand why you’re afraid of that,” Michonne said. “But we’ve been in here for five, ten minutes, and he’s done what? Just sat there. He can’t even talk,” she said as she strolled over to the man in question and bent to look him in the eye.

“You got something you want to say, Negan?” she asked. “You wanna tell everyone that you understand that you’re not going anywhere _ever_? That you’re only here to watch us build a life without you?”

Negan glared at her, his nostrils flaring.

She straightened and addressed her audience. “He’d love to tell you that, but his throat’s a lil’ cut. It’s still healing. Think of all that shit he used to talk, how he could not shut the fuck up, and now he can’t even _swallow_ without pain shooting up his throat _._ ”

“He thrived in _fear_ ,” Rick said. “He created an atmosphere of fear, and he thrived in it. We’ve stripped that away. _All_ of us. Each and every one of you are the reason he’s sitting here. Powerless. While you can go wherever you please and do whatever you want. You fought for your freedom and won, and he cannot stand it. Worse: he can’t do anything about it.”

Rick’s words settled in, and those who were previously too afraid to make eye contact with Negan now stared at him head on.

Tara shook her head. “I…I don’t want to live where he is. This wasn’t want we wanted. I don’t think I can do it.”

Michonne narrowed her eyes, wondering why Tara would say something like that publicly instead of privately.

“Like I said,” Rick spoke, “You can go wherever you please. The boogeyman’s gone, and the roads are clear.”

Tara knitted her forehead, frustrated. She didn’t know what else to say, and she didn’t get a chance to come up with anything.

The radio on Rick’s hip crackled and Scott’s voice came through the speaker. “Rick. We’ve got friendlies approaching the gate. Maybe.”

Rick unhooked the radio and listened.

“It’s Oceanside. Looks like they’re fourteen strong. Over.”

“That don’t sound friendly,” Rick said to Michonne. Pressing down on the button, he replied to Scott. “Is Cyndie with them? Over.”

“Yeah. Over.”

“Keep them outside the gate and stay alert. _Do not_ radio the eyes. I don’t want the noise. Let’s hope they’re on top of it. Let her know I’m comin’.”

Rick looked at Michonne for confirmation.

“I got him,” she said.

Siddiq stepped onto the stage and asked, “Should we move him back into the infirmary?”

“No, I don’t want him exposed. Keep him here,” Rick said as he headed for the exit.

Father Gabriel fell into step beside him. “Do we need weapons?”

“Woah,” Tara cautioned as she walked with them.

“Everyone, head to your weapons, but don’t do anything,” Rick directed loudly. “Stay out of sight but stay ready.”

“That’s overkill,” Tara protested, quickening her steps to keep up. “We don’t even know what they want.”

“Exactly,” Rick said.

Rick arrived at the gate, Tara his only companion from the church. Scott had climbed down from the watch post, but there was still one person up there, his eyes on the scope for any threats in the distance.

Scott closed the gate behind Rick.

“What’s going on?” Cyndie asked, noting the purposeful strides of the Alexandrians.

“Just held a meeting,” Rick explained.

The young woman squared her shoulders and looked up at Rick. “We’re here for Negan.”

Rick scanned her group. He recognized the short-haired woman as Barbara. His eyes returned to Cyndie, and he waited.

“You dragged us into this fight with the promise of defeating the Saviors and ending Negan,” Cyndie said.

“We delivered,” Rick said.

“We want more than a _surrender_. Negan extinguished _half_ of our community. You think you guys had it bad? You were only under his thumb for _months_. I want his head on a pike. I want him to suffer for what he did to each one of us.”

“So do I,” Rick said. “We have a different view of what that looks like, and I get that. I accept that. The decision is made.”

“It’s not your decision to make!”

“I didn’t make it by myself.”

“It shouldn’t have been made until the four of us were together. Maggie was outnumbered then, but I’m with her now. It’s a _tie_.”

Rick shook his head. “It ain’t a tie, Cyndie. Where’s Maggie? Does she know you’re here?”

Cyndie’s mouth twitched, the wind taken out of her sails.

“The four of us _were_ together,” Rick said. “We all gathered at Hilltop, and I asked you to give this a chance---”

“And I should’ve fought harder,” Cyndie said. She snorted derisively. “I guess this leader thing is still settling in.”

“You don’t like the decision. I get it. That don’t make it a tie. The four of us together can make this work. Us rising up together was and is his worst nightmare.”

Rick watched the wheels turn in her head. He imagined that she was concerned with how she appeared in front of her entourage.

“I think you’re doing fine as a leader,” he said sympathetically. “It’ll get more and more uncomfortable until it becomes comfortable.”

Cyndie’s chest rose and fall with words unsaid. Finally, she declared, “Let’s go.”

“That’s it?” Barbara asked incredulously, but Cyndie was already retreating from the gate.

When they were out of earshot, Rick brought the radio to his lips and pressed the button. “Eagle 2, I got fourteen from Oceanside retreating. No fists, no fire, but they wanted Negan. Report. Over.”

“No noise, no movement here. Over.”

“Accountability,” Rick directed. He shook his head while he waited for the second post to get a report from posts three, four, and five, Alexandria’s eyes in the woods.

“You heard what she said?” he asked Scott and Tara. “We had to drag her into this fight. Which is true. I was supposed to remember the people who waited until it was almost curtains to join the fight? I’d written them off by the time we marched into that field. She forgot that she was a leader, but I was supposed to remember?”

“Hey, they made a difference,” Tara defended.

“I know,” Rick said, his tone indicating that he still meant what he’d said.

Tara sighed. “I am so uncomfortable. So many people are against this. It makes me antsy.”

“Are you leavin’?” Rick asked.

“Not forever. Maybe until this settles in. You know, like Rosita and Daryl.”

“If you want it to _settle_ , Hilltop and Oceanside probably aren’t the places you want to be.”

The radio crackled back to life. “All clear, Rick. Over.”

“Thanks,” Rick answered. “Tell everyone to keep their guard up in case they come back.” He returned his attention to Tara and said, “Let me or Michonne know what you decide. We’re keepin’ a count of who’s here.”

* * *

 

Michonne closed the front door behind her and took a moment. It was a moment to remind herself of who she wouldn’t see or hear in the house.

It was one of those days where her grief was swelling unbearably.

She walked into the kitchen in search of lunch, knowing that Rick would have set something aside for her. However, she wasn’t prepared to see him hunched over the board.

Rick straightened and smiled warmly at her. “Welcome home.”

Michonne slowly took her katana off, her almond eyes shifting between him and the board. “Hi.”

She topped off her greeting with a kiss that was as warm and comforting as his smile.

“I fixed it,” he said, releasing her waist to return his attention to the smooth board.

His chest rose as he inhaled deeply, an indicator that he had something heavy on his mind.

She leaned her hip against the kitchen island and rubbed his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I keep replaying that one conversation we had in my head, and I can’t stop. You can lose me, and I can lose you.” He smiled ruefully. “We’re both still here, and he’s gone. I said this was bigger than us. Now there’s a voice in my head, mockin’, tellin’ me this is bigger than him. Get over it and move on. I don’t get to be sad about this.”

“That is bullshit.”

“I know, but I can’t help it,” he said as he teared up. “I just keep thinkin’ about it, just thinkin’ about how...I thought I knew everything. I thought I knew how this would play out. I could lose you, and you could lose me, and those were the only two options.”

His vision was blurry as he stared at Carl’s hand. Michonne laid her forehead on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“If I was okay with those options, then I should be okay with this. And it just keeps goin’ around and around,” Rick said.

“You absolutely get to be sad about this,” she said, raising her head. She turned his face toward her and wiped his trickling tear drops with her thumbs. “Carl…died helping someone. He became exactly who you wanted him to be.”

“I don’t know how,” Rick said, his voice hoarse.

Michonne smiled. “He watched you.”

Rick shook his head. “I haven’t exactly been focused on lendin’ a helpin’ hand these last few months, hell the last year. He saw me fire some shots over someone’s head to get rid of ‘em.”

“He _watched_ you,” she insisted. “He always knew what you were about. He’s been watching you since he was a child, since before this.”

Rick closed his eyes, dispensing more tears. “I used to be so afraid about what this world would do to him. After he killed that boy, I was terrified about who he’d become.”

The words that Michonne spoke next hurt her as much as they made her proud. “I think…that…he died in one of the few ways he would’ve wanted to. He helped someone make it. And then he was surrounded by family.”

“I don’t want to think about my fifteen-year-old dying the way he wanted,” he said, his voice breaking.

“I know,” Michonne said, wiping her tears. “But he did. And I’m proud of him.”

Rick closed his eyes, and Michonne swayed into him. She placed a steady hand at the back of his head and brought his forehead down to touch hers. She moved her fingers down his hair and rubbed the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers through his curls, comforting him.

Rick circled her waist and rested his hands on her tailbone, bringing her hips flush against his. They remained bonded like this a while, readjusting once again to a life without Carl.

“He watched you, too,” Rick said, opening his eyes. “You are the best influence I could’ve hoped for. I think he watched both of us and took what was best.”

Michonne smiled fondly. “Carl helped me love again. He helped me love Judith, if I’m being honest. He opened a part of me that I thought was dead, buried, salted, and nothing would ever grow there again. But he found his way in. He healed me. He was so special, and I wish he were here for me to tell him again,” she said, her throat hurting.

Rick brought a hand up to caress her cheek. “He knows.”

“Rick? I think you’re special,” she said. She did not want to be complacent. She did not want to waste the time that she had with him. “I think you’re a great man and an incredible father. You inspire me every single day, and I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you. You healed me, too.”

Words sometimes failed Rick but action never did. He poured his love into Michonne with a kiss that touched the fiber of her being. His love swelled higher than her grief, forcing the latter to recede.

“I love you,” he said against her lips, searing the words into her cells.

“I know.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Real quick, I mistakenly called Beatrice "Barbara" in the last chapter. The short-haired woman who came with Cyndie to Alexandria was Beatrice! Anyways, thank you for supporting this story. I hope you have as much fun reading this chapter as I did writing it!

_Now_

Rick quickly made his way to Nabila. "What happened? Where's Michonne?" he asked, a tinge of panic in his voice as he took Judith.

"She's fine. She's in a meeting," she said warmly, pointing to the big tent about thirty feet away.

Knowing Michonne's whereabouts did a lot to abate his fear, but he still worried. "Did something happen?"

"Hi, Tara," Judith cut in.

"Hey, munchkin."

"She's here about the bridge toll," Nabila answered Rick. "She moved the meeting here."

"This is a _surprise_ , daddy," Judith informed him.

"Oh, it is?" Rick asked, smiling.

"Surprise!" Judith yelled as she spread her arms. "Are you surprised?"

"I'm very surprised. I love-"

Michonne stepped out of the tent in a floor-length, off the shoulder dress, and the last word caught in his throat. The gold material hugged her curves as if it knew what a privilege it was to touch her. The neckline sat low, allowing her breasts to sit up and be noticed.

And Rick noticed. "Surprises," he finished faintly.

Her hair was pulled into a half ponytail, with one loc falling on either side of her face. She moved like the world was her stage, smiling and waving at those who greeted her. But every time her eyes connected with Rick, there was a little something extra in her smile, and he knew that she was really here for him.

Tara whistled her approval.

"Agreed," Rick said in his stupor.

"Hi," Michonne beamed when she reached him. The smitten look on his face made the uncomfortable journey from Alexandria to the camp worthwhile.

"Hi," Rick responded. She even smelled like a dream. He angled himself and pulled her in for a kiss.

"Okaaaay," Judith protested, pushing their heads apart.

"Woah, woah," Rick chastised as he removed her hand from his forehead. "What is that? What's that about?" he asked her.

"Stop kissing," she commanded quietly.

Rick cocked his head, wondering where the attitude was coming from.

"Missy here's cranky from the ride," Michonne explained. "Hey, Tara."

"Hi. You look hot."

"Thanks."

"Seriously. _Nobody_ here has looked like that. Ever. These guys now have new material for when they're with the p-r-o-s-t-i-t-u-t-e," she said to Rick.

Michonne's smile died.

"A _prostitute_?" Nabila asked, shocked.

Three pairs of eyes widened in her direction.

"Oops!" she gasped, covering her mouth.

An awkward moment passed, which told Judith that this new word was important.

"What's a prossitute?" she asked her father.

"It's nothing," Nabila quickly answered.

"We don't answer with 'nothing' when she asks questions," Michonne said.

"It's a, uh, title," Rick told Judith. Switching his attention to Nabila and Michonne, he said, "Yeah, it's a new development. I think. Hon, you look amazing."

He lifted Michonne's hand and began to spin her.

"What are you doing?" Michonne asked, laughing as she stiffened her arm.

"I want you to turn."

" _No_ ," she objected sheepishly as she pulled her arm down.

"Come on, please. I want to see the back. Come on."

He grabbed her arm again, and, this time, she let him spin her around.

"Oh my God," she said as she turned, slightly embarrassed.

"You're beautiful."

"Thank you. Haven't been here in a while. Figured it was time for a visit."

"We brought you a lot of presents," Judith told Rick. "Well, it's a lot of…extra food and water."

"Extra food and water are good," Rick said.

"Yeah, and it's just for you," she said as she poked his chest.

"Thank you, sweetheart." He kissed Judith's cheek and then Michonne's.

"So, I guess we'll talk about Oceanside after?" Tara asked Rick.

"What about them?" Michonne asked.

"I'll just…talk to Rick about it after," Tara said as she backed away. She knew how Michonne felt about Oceanside, and she didn't want to upset her.

No sooner did Tara leave than Carol joined them. "Well, after all that talkin', we remembered that the cond-all of the protection is probably expired."

"Hi, aunt Carol," Judith waved.

"Hi, sweetie," Carol greeted, kissing her cheek. "Jesus, Michonne, are you planning to kill him?" she asked as she rubbed Michonne's belly. "You look great, mama."

"Thank you," Michonne said, laughing.

"You knew about this?" Rick asked Carol.

"Yeah. So did Zeke and Maggie. That's why they missed our meeting. Pregnant lady gets priority."

"Do you want Judith to stay with me, or will you be taking her?" Nabila asked Michonne.

"Rick?" Michonne prompted.

"I want to show you how everything's come along," he said to Michonne. "Does that sound like fun, sweetheart?" he asked Judith. "I can show you what daddy's been working on, and you can see my job in person."

Judith opened her mouth but didn't say anything, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

"Or we can finish making up our story," Nabila offered.

"I wanna do that," Judith told Rick, wringing her hands.

"You don't wanna spend the day with me?" Rick asked, feigning hurt.

"I do!" Judith rushed to reassure him. "Just…after."

"Alright. Can you tell me the story after you're done with it?"

"Yeah," she promised, smiling.

"Alright, I love you," he said, and he kissed her cheek.

Judith hugged him tight. "I love you, too."

Rick set her down on her feet, and she went off with Nabila. Michonne entwined her fingers with his and stepped closer to him.

"Rick, I don't want to darken your happy cloud, but we need to talk about my future at the Sanctuary," Carol said.

"Meaning?" Rick asked with trepidation.

"Meaning, it's not a long future."

He sighed and scratched his eyebrow. "Carol."

"Look, as annoying as planning the dinner has been, it's a fun annoying, and I realize I'd rather be doing _that_ full time than be at the Sanctuary. Not to mention," she continued, lowering her voice, "Ezekiel can be a thot, too, and I'd like to be around to give him the chance."

Michonne's heart jumped against her skin. She needed to talk to Ezekiel about a thing called _discretion_.

"What are you talking about?" Rick asked.

"Nothing," Michonne answered quickly.

"Don't y'all have a rule about not answering a question with 'nothing?'" Carol teased her.

"That rule is for Judith," Michonne answered with clenched teeth and a forced smile.

"Turnabout is fair play," Carol told her, to Rick's ongoing confusion. "All I'm saying is, Ezekiel and I have talked about it, and I'm planning to be back at Kingdom by the end of the month."

"That's next week," Rick said, surprised. "If you leave, the place falls apart. Alden already made it clear that if you go, he will, too."

"The place is already falling apart, Rick. They're black sheep."

"The sheep will need a place to stay once the Sanctuary falls apart," Michonne said. "I guess everyone should prepare for that to the best of their ability. It's not our job to make sure the Sanctuary succeeds," she said to Rick.

"Yeah," he said regrettably. "Would've been nice to avoid creating a bunch of enemies, though. Because I can tell you what's gonna happen: everyone is going to shut their doors to them, which means all of us will have to be on guard for their reaction to that."

"So we'll need to make sure security is extra tight at the dinner," Carol said.

"It'd be smarter for you to leave after the dinner," Rick said.

Carol's face pinched. "I will talk to Ezekiel about it," she said slowly.

Rick nodded, hoping Ezekiel would agree with him.

Daryl walked up to the group, and the atmosphere turned stale. He didn't stay, however. He simply said, "Hey," to Michonne.

"Hi," she answered, her mouth setting in a line.

Daryl nodded and left, and Michonne followed him with her eyes.

"Have a good time, guys," Carol said, rubbing Michonne's belly before leaving, but Michonne remained focused on Daryl.

Rick moved into her line of sight, blocking her view. "Hi," he said.

Michonne took a deep breath and released it. "I'm trying."

"No rush," he said as he caressed her face, the other hand rubbing her belly. "No rush at all."

* * *

 

_6 months ago_

"Maggie, get him! Get him!"

It felt like she'd said it half an hour ago.

Maybe longer?

She'd rampaged her way to the back of the herd, cutting walkers down left, right, and center, doing everything in her power to keep them from getting to the front. Because Rick was at the front.

"He's down!"

That had been Daryl.

She hadn't dared turned around, hadn't dared asked what that meant. Her body had erupted in goosebumps, and her heart had fallen flat on the bridge, but she hadn't dared stop. She'd kept going until her arms burned, and she'd pressed on beyond that.

Now, the last walker fell from her sword. She turned around swiftly, her wild eyes scanning the bridge for other walkers, her ears sharply tuned to detect so much as a rasp.

"Michonne!" Carol yelled, shocking her out of survival mode. She took off running up the bridge, her lungs burning almost as badly as her arms. She hopped over dead bodies and stepped on others, the walkers easily falling apart under her weight, and the freshly dead humans holding firm.

Those who survived formed a crowd. As she got closer, she heard Siddiq shouting directions, which sparked a sliver of hope. She pushed and shoved her way through.

"Excuse me! Excuse me! You're in my way. Move!"

The rest caught on and cleared a path, and they helped her get inside of the circle.

Her knees almost buckled when she saw him, pale and bloody, his head elevated on Maggie's thighs. Tara was applying pressure and cursing under her breath, panicking.

"Siddiq," she said, but it was too low for him to hear.

Carol pushed her the rest of the way, forcing her to move her legs. "He's still breathing," Carol said. "It's very shallow, but it's there."

That gave her the strength to walk. "Oh my God," she said when she saw the volume of blood, her voice trembling.

"His heart's not pumping fast enough," Siddiq said tensely.

She dropped to her knees and put her sword on the floor to cradle Rick's face. She flinched at the coldness. His breath was coming out in strained puffs. He was struggling.

"What can I do?" she asked Siddiq.

"He needs blood. Do you know his blood type?"

She shook her head, her skin becoming clammy.

"Oh God, I do," Maggie answered. "It's um, um…oh my God, I know this. He gave it to Carl, and they had the same blood type. A Positive! He's A Positive."

Siddiq turned to Michonne expectantly.

"I'm B Positive," she said, her ears ringing.

"Okay, I need people with A Positive, A Negative, O Positive, and O Negative blood!" Siddiq yelled. "Maggie, can you find matches, and Michonne, you can hold his head up."

" _No_." She stood with a sense of purpose and began yelling directions. Rick was unconscious and likely had no idea she was there. She was not going to sit on her knees when he could possibly be taking his last breath.

Person after person told her, "I don't know. I'm sorry," and despair threatened to swallow her whole.

"We don't have any matches," she reported to Siddiq. "Not that we know of. Most of them don't know."

"We've got good odds. Ask for volunteers. Eugene will be back with what I need."

Moving Rick off the bridge was another production. They laid him on the makeshift wheelbarrow that previously held boxes of dynamite, but they had to move the dead walkers to clear a path. King Ezekiel had enough wits about him to prevent people from dumping the bodies in the river, for fear of clogging it.

The road back to the camp was a bumpy one, and Michonne's belly twisted every time Rick was jostled. But finally, finally, they arrived at the hospice tent.

"Is—is that Rick?" Aaron asked when he was carried in.

Michonne let someone else answer. She was focused on whether Rick's body was going to reject the transfusion. She cleaned him up, using a wet cloth to wipe the congealed blood off his skin and hands. Siddiq stopped her from covering his naked chest with a blanket.

"One of the ways I'll know if his body rejects the blood is if he starts turning pink."

Michonne looked at the love of her life. His breathing was not as shallow, but his eyelids hadn't so much as fluttered so far. She handed the blanket to Siddiq and kneeled next to Rick. She ran her knuckles along his cheek. It was still colder than normal. This was worse than the last scare he'd given her. Back then, he'd reappeared like a miracle and screamed her name. She needed him to perform another miracle.

"Rick? You did so much to get yourself here, to us, to me. You're probably exhausted, I know, but I need you to fight some more. We've done what we can, and now I need you to accept this transfusion. Please. Please, don't give up. Please fight. Please make it through this." She leaned down and kissed his lips. "I'm waiting for you. I love you, and I'm waiting for you."

"Rick's a fighter," Aaron said, stealing her attention. "He'll get through this." Despite the reassurance, he looked terrified.

 _If he doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying_. The words appeared in Michonne's head, and she banished them immediately. She did not need realism right now.

She looked at Siddiq, who was standing behind her, his eyes boring into Rick. "Thank you," she said. "You…you were great."

"I just hope-" He cleared his throat to get rid of the hoarseness. "I just hope it's enough." There had been nothing he could do to save Carl. He desperately hoped the same wouldn't be true for Rick.

"You hear that?" she asked Rick, tears in her voice. "Don't let Siddiq's hard work be in vain. You can't. Come on, baby," she encouraged, rubbing his chest. Her eyes trailed down to the wound that Siddiq had wrapped. "How do you think he got this?" she asked.

Siddiq sighed. "I don't know. It looks like he was impaled by something with a small circumference but _long_ , because it pierced out of his back. Well, it pierced out of his front. His back was the point of entry."

Michonne shook her head as she stared at the bandage, which would need to be changed soon. "How can his back be the point of entry? Why is there a point of entry in the first place? Unless he fought someone out there…"

"A Savior?" Aaron posited. "They attacked the camp earlier. I thought one was going to run in here any minute."

She, Maggie, Siddiq, and more from Alexandria had run into the others, including Aaron, on the way to the camp. When she'd asked for Rick, Jerry had informed her that he'd returned to Alexandria, which she had immediately denied.

As she wondered how Rick had sustained the wound, Rosita's accusatory voice rose above her thoughts outside of the tent.

"I thought you said that herd was not going to come through here."

"I will kindly ask you to direct your frustration away from me, Rosita," Eugene replied stoically. "My assessment was correct: the herd, on its own, did not pose a threat to us. However, gunfire was a variable for which I did not think to account. And that was not one herd up there. They seem to have merged."

Rosita uttered a dismissive sound. "Does anybody know what the hell Jed was talking about?"

"No idea," Carol answered. "We might want to talk to Cyndie."

"Guys, how about we move this conversation?" Maggie suggested.

Michonne gave Rick's chest a final rub and stood. She passed Siddiq and squeezed his shoulder, silently telling him to watch over Rick.

She stepped out of the tent and blinked a few times, her eyes readjusting to the mid-afternoon light. Ezekiel noticed her approach and asked her how Rick was doing.

"He's still out," she answered as she became a part of the circle. "So far so good with the transfusion."

Carol laid comforting hands on her biceps. "He'll make it."

"I hope so," she said, her eyes misting. "Thank you all so much for what you did. I need to thank everyone here," she said, referring to the Alexandria, Hilltop, Oceanside, and Kingdom residents who were still standing after the fight.

"No thanks needed. It's Rick," Tara said with a small shrug.

"What's the prognosis if-when, _when_ he recovers? Sorry," Eugene said, avoiding Michonne's eyes.

"I don't know. I didn't think to ask Siddiq, but I will. In the meantime, I've got questions along the same line as Rosita. What happened here?"

Maggie stood across from her. Rosita and Eugene stood between Maggie and Daryl. Ezekiel, Jerry, Dianne, and Tara were all gathered in the circle.

"Jed showed up with bravado and accusations," Carol said as she removed her hands from Michonne's shoulders. "He's convinced that it was Oceanside who killed Justin and the others."

"Is?" Michonne asked.

"Yeah. He got away. Oh shit, someone should check to see if Alden's still alive."

"Jed never struck me as detective extraordinaire, so how did he go from accusing Anne and Daryl to accusing Oceanside?" Tara asked.

"Perhaps we should ask Cyndie, as Carol suggested," Ezekiel said.

"No," Maggie said. "There's no need. He's right."

A loaded silence barged into the circle as everyone tried to understand what Maggie said. More so, they tried to understand the implications of what she'd said, the implication that she'd withheld information, a sharp departure from their norm.

"Okay, I'll ask," Rosita said impatiently, raising her hand. "Why didn't you tell us? We were caught with our freaking pants down earlier."

"How did _you_ figure it out?" Carol asked. "You were barely around for most of this."

"Wadn't just her," Daryl said. "It was the two of us."

"We…" Maggie hesitated with the full realization that she was about to slide down a very slippery, very fast slope. She couldn't recall the last time she'd had to make a confession. "We saw it," she said, her stomach bottoming out. "Daryl figured out who was doin' the killins. We followed his haunch, and we found Cyndie, Beatrice, and a few others about to kill Arat."

An annoyance that she did not understand was rising in Michonne. Her bullshit meter was still razor sharp, domestic life be damned. She knew when someone was trying to sell her a bill of goods. It had kept her alive when she'd been on her own. It had led her and the others to Alexandria. And it was currently leading her to believe that something was being left out. Something was hanging above this conversation. And it was very possible that while she didn't know what it was, others did.

"Once again: why didn't you say anything?" Rosita asked. "We could've prepared for this."

Michonne spoke before she could even form the thought in her head, her instinct guiding her. "Can you imagine what Rick would've done?" She held Maggie's gaze. "If Rick had found out, he would've stopped Cyndie. He would've talked to her. That's why you didn't say anything."

"Let us not jump to conclusions," the King cautioned. "There was perhaps not enough time to issue a warning."

"There was," Maggie said. She felt more than saw people shift away from her, including Dianne, who had blindly driven her to Alexandria earlier. Daryl and Michonne were the only ones who did not move. "You didn't see her," she said to Michonne. "There was no talking to her. Arat killed her brother. Arat _gleefully_ killed her brother."

"Did you even try?" Michonne asked her, already knowing the answer.

"What you mean try?" Daryl asked. "The Saviors almost destroyed them. That would've been a slap to the face. We let her do it. Walked away."

"She promised that Arat was the last one," Maggie said.

Michonne snorted despite herself. "Is that how that works? I mean, did she _pinky_ promise?" She shook her head to clear it. "So Jed escaped. Are we assuming he's headed to Oceanside?"

"Possibly," Carol offered. "Somebody needs to warn Cyndie."

"Why was Rick going to Alexandria?" Michonne asked Jerry.

"Oh, uh…" He awkwardly looked at Maggie. "I got word that…Maggie was heading to Alexandria, and I was told to pass it to Rick, because…he'd know what that meant. I still don't know what that means."

"It means she was going to kill Negan," Michonne said.

"You tried to kill Negan?" Tara asked. "Did…you succeed?"

"I…I changed my mind when I saw him," Maggie answered. "Realized there was no point."

"What does that mean?" Tara asked.

"Hold up," Rosita cut in. "Did _you_ know Cyndie was going around killing people?"

"No!" Tara exclaimed.

"You _live_ in Oceanside."

"So what? Apparently-"

"Stop, _stop_ ," Michonne said as the gears turned in her head. "Jerry, Rick would've told me what you told him before he even left. He would've relayed the message, so I could be ready."

"Yeah, I heard him doing it while Fetu and I were walking away," he said, referring to his horse.

"Okay, but I didn't get the message," she said. The words no sooner left her lips than understanding dawned on her. Her eyes bounced to Maggie. She could practically see the words sticking in Maggie's throat.

But Carol lost her patience before she did.

"Okay, can you two speak in full fucking sentences?" Carol asked Maggie and Daryl. "Do we really have time for twenty questions right now? We _don't_. _Speak_."

"I told Rachel not to deliver the message," Maggie said, holding Michonne's gaze, her back straight.

"You messed with the relay?" Carol asked, shocked.

"You manipulated it," Eugene clarified. "Our very important relay that we use to communicate very important information. A rudimentary system that requires trust and integrity between-"

"Cyndie knew you were coming," Michonne said to Maggie.

"She did."

"So you didn't just drop by, you _planned_ to drop by." Michonne slowly left her spot and walked inside the circle. Her frustration was now at a boiling point, which made her tense, which made her speak in a measured tone. Because Maggie was still not speaking in full sentences.

"I think that out of everyone standing here, you two are the only ones with a full picture of what happened today. I'm asking you to enlighten us. Use all the words in your arsenal. Because I will not ask again. I want to know why Rick was going to Alexandria but is now lying unconscious with a stab wound. Rick should've beaten you to Alexandria. So tell me the scenario where he _doesn't_ ," she said, her eyes volleying between Maggie and Daryl.

"Look," Daryl said, "The plan was to delay Rick. We had the relay taken care of, but we needed to keep him out of Alexandria if he somehow found out. So when he was about to leave, I offered to give him a ride on the bike, said it would be faster. He ain't stupid, so he knew something was up when I kept going past the turn. We got into it and fell down a…big ass, random hole."

"What does you 'got into it' mean?" Carol asked, narrowing her eyes.

Daryl didn't answer, instead chewing on the inside of his cheek. He felt uncomfortable recounting what had transpired between him and Rick considering Rick's current situation. He hated what their last encounter had been.

"You…you fought him," Michonne said. She felt like she was suffocating. She hadn't known what to expect. The whole scenario, starting with Maggie and Daryl withholding important information, was foreign. She'd been feeling like she was swimming through quicksand with how slow they'd been dispersing information. This new revelation did not help: Daryl deceiving Rick and then fighting with him? The Daryl she knew was the one who'd killed the walker that had been inches away from Rick's face.

"I told 'im to let the bridge go. Let them go over it and let the thing fold."

"Oh, is…is that the problem?" Michonne asked, her lips quivering as she advanced on him. Her adrenaline was spiking hot and fast. "Is that where he went wrong? He didn't let the bridge go?"

"The bridge held, so your plan wouldn't have worked anyways," Rosita said.

"He was up there…by himself. Just standing there as that thing closed on him, because he was _that_ weak. He was _so_ weak that he couldn't even defend himself. And your take away is that he should've let the bridge go?"

"I saved him," Daryl said quietly, his tears ready to spill.

Michonne's fist flew across his face. "You _fixed_ your mistake! You _saved_ him?!" she yelled, shoving him.

Carol and Rosita quickly pulled her back as Ezekiel and Jerry pulled Daryl away. Michonne wrestled free of the women's grasps and sprinted forward, but they blocked her again. She picked up rocks from the ground and reached back to lob them at Daryl's head, yelling, "Fuck you!"

"Woah, shit, stop!" Tara yelled as she and Dianne grabbed her hand.

"Michonne, _stop it_!" Maggie said as she rounded in front of Michonne.

Michonne dropped the rocks and shoved Maggie so hard that the woman's neck snapped forward. "Tell me what it was worth!"

"He made his decision!" Daryl shouted.

"That is not helping!" Carol yelled at him, amid Tara's "What the fuck?!"

Michonne picked up the rocks and threw them at Daryl before anyone could stop her. Maggie ducked; Ezekiel and Jerry sprang away from Daryl, and Daryl turned his back and covered his head just before the rocks pelted him.

Michonne dashed for him again, but Jerry swung her off her feet midway.

"Can't let you beat him up, M'Lady," he said as he set her on her feet, facing away from Daryl.

Maggie was in her line of sight now. "He was stabbed," Michonne said, shaking. "You saw that, right?"

"Are you fucking serious, Michonne?!" Daryl yelled.

"Daryl, it might behoove you to stop talking," Eugene said.

"Damn that, you think I stabbed him? I would _never_ ," Daryl spat as he walked up to her.

"Never's off the table, as far as I'm concerned," Michonne said as she turned around and tried to walk around Jerry.

"Michonne, we are talking about _separate things_ ," Maggie said from behind her. "He had _nothing_ to do with what happened to Rick."

"I don't think she can hear you right now," Rosita said.

"No, I hear her, and it's _bullshit_ , because if _you_ hadn't tricked him," she said, jabbing her finger at Daryl, "He would've been with me when this shit went down. He would've been with _me_!"

"Daryl, I'm trying to stop her fist from connecting to your face again," Ezekiel said, as, just like Jerry, he walked into any path Daryl tried to take, to keep him away from Michonne.

"Nah, this is between me and her. She want somebody to beat on, then let her be my guest," he said, his voice cracking. "I _did not_ hurt 'im. I don't know what happened to 'im. And I _did_ save 'im. I should've fuckin' been there, but I wasn't. But you're not gonna accuse me-"

"Michonne!" Siddiq yelled as he poked his head out of the tent. "He's not taking it."

Michonne's blood dropped from hot to cold, and she bolted for the tent.

Carol closed her eyes as Michonne rushed past her, silently hoping for the best for Rick. When she opened them, she was cognizant of everyone in the camp watching them.

"Okay," she began slowly, addressing the immediate group, "Here's what we're going to do: Ezekiel, Jerry, and Dianne, you're going to go to the Sanctuary to make sure Alden's not dead and put out the Oceanside fire. Daryl and Maggie, you're going to track Jed and kill him. You want to kill Saviors? Have at that one. Rick probably can't be moved any time soon, and we don't want to risk Jed coming back here."

"I'm stayin' here," Daryl said.

Carol gave him her best Stepford Wife smile. "Okay. You can do that. You can stay here, far away from Michonne. Don't even let her hear your voice. Because if she comes for your jugular again? I will be watching from the sidelines. Rosita, _you_ go with Maggie. And Maggie…stay away from Michonne, too. Tara and Eugene, you're going to Oceanside to make sure Jed didn't already take Cyndie out. Someone here's probably already radioed her about Jed's attack. Convince her that it's under control so she doesn't go on the offense."

"Got it," Tara said. "I'll be sure to pack up my stuff while I'm there since I'm clearly still an outsider. I'll also take a few more people with me. Just in case. No offense, Eugene."

"None taken."

"Fine," Carol said. "Is everyone clear on what they're doing?"

"Yes, boss lady," Jerry answered.

"Yeah, stop calling me that. Jed calls me that now. Sorry."

Jerry's mouth dropped. "Don't miss," he said bitterly to Maggie and Rosita.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone in the U.S. had a wonderful holiday!

_One Year and Eight Months Ago_

Rick and Michonne reclaimed a level of intimacy that afternoon in the kitchen. Every day after, each goodnight kiss evolved into a make out session that left them reeling.

One morning, Rick received a pleasant surprise.

"Hey, Rick?" Michonne called from the master bathroom. "Can you come here, please?"

A few minutes later, Rick appeared in the doorway, Judith on his hip.

"Good morning, Mama!" Judith greeted, reaching out.

"Good morning, chicken," Michonne greeted her happily as she took her from Rick.

"We're about to eat breakfast," Rick informed Michonne as he used one arm to pull her closer.

"Mmm." Michonne held Judith with one hand and gathered her hair off the left side of her neck with the other. "Look at this. Look at what you did."

Rick saw them right away. Where her neck met her shoulder, her smooth color was interrupted by two uneven violet splotches. The sight made him want her then and there.

He slipped his hand from her waist to caress her ass. "How did that happen?"

Michonne's faux indignation wavered. "You should be more careful," she tried.

"Why?" he asked, his eyes hot on her.

"It's indecent. I can't be walkin' around with big 'ole hickeys."

"Big 'ole hicks," Judith repeated as she played with Michonne's necklace.

"Well, you should've stopped me when it was happenin'," Rick said, tilting his head as a grin tugged his lips. "Why didn't you stop me, Michonne?" he asked, putting on a serious air. "Mmm? Why were you squirmin' so much?"

He used his other hand to palm that sweet haven that was central in his fantasies.

Michonne's senses twirled in the piney fresh smell of him. "Becau—Because you were doing a good job," she said diplomatically.

"That's what I thought," Rick rumbled, making the hairs on her arms rise.

Her released her, and Michonne immediately missed the pressure. But she kept it together. "You're horrible."

"That ain't your real testimony," Rick drawled confidently. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to feed the child." He took Judith back and pried her fingers off of Michonne's necklace. He kissed the hickeys on Michonne's neck, and she inhaled sharply, making him smile.

"No, no," Judith protested, not liking the new transfer. Her whimpers of protest turned into a full-blown cry as Rick walked them out of the bathroom. "Noooo!"

"It's alright. She'll join us soon," he said.

A few days later, Rick and Michonne were tingling with pent-up desire. They knew what needed to happen next.

Michonne walked to the approaching truck and waited for Rick to throw it in park and open the door.

"Afternoon," he greeted happily as he stepped out.

"Good afternoon," Michonne returned. "Hi, Aaron," she offered as the other man stepped out of the passenger's side.

"Hey," Aaron replied.

"You were gone when I woke up," Michonne said to Rick.

"Yes, I was," he confirmed as he walked to the back of the truck. "I needed an early start. A very early start."

"Where'd you go?" she asked as she followed him.

Rick released the tailgate and proudly turned to Michonne, placing a hand on his hip.

A smile the likes of which Rick hadn't seen in too long bloomed on her face, softening her features. She threw herself at him, knocking him off balance as she laughed in his ear, a melodious sound that summoned Rick's own laughter as he swayed with her.

"You got it," she said when they separated.

"I don't forget a debt," Rick said.

Michonne captured his lips with a kiss full of gratitude and love.

"FYI, _I_ caught it," Aaron said as he climbed into the truck.

"Yeah," Rick corroborated with a skeptical side-eye.

"Hey, not bad for my first time. Who knew shooting walkers was great target practice for shooting deer?" he asked, looking a little sick.

"What happened?" Michonne asked him.

"Well, uh," he began, kneeling behind the deer. "He said to aim for the neck, because it's most efficient for a beginner, so I did that. I missed the target area, though. You know, the one that would've killed it? I…I paralyzed it."

"Oh shit," Michonne said, horrified.

"Have you ever seen a paralyzed deer? It's fucking disturbing."

"Keep in mind," Rick told Michonne with a smile, "He kept saying that he wanted to make things as painless for the deer as possible."

Aaron exhaled deeply, trying to keep his stomach calm. "We made our way over, and he made me take the kill shot."

"Hey, it's your buck. Kill shot was always supposed to be yours," Rick said, the smile still plastered on his face.

"I'm glad you had a great time," Aaron said sourly.

Michonne bit back her smile and shook her head at Rick. "Any plans to do it again?" she asked Aaron.

"Hell no. Not unless times get real desperate. Ready?" he asked Rick.

"Yeah," Rick answered. He turned his back to Aaron and braced himself.

Aaron heaved up the deer and dropped it on Rick's shoulders.

"You got one that's eaten pretty good," Michonne said, assessing the burly animal. It was a lot thicker than the one she'd once captured.

"You guys get first dibs," Aaron informed Michonne. "We'll ration the rest to those interested."

"We're having a date tonight," Rick informed her happily.

"We are?" she asked, smiling.

"Yes," he said before giving her a kiss. "Right there," he indicated with his head.

 _Right there_ was the small dilapidated house outside of Alexandria's gates. It had no stable furniture; the windows were broken; the floor was dusty; and it held a lot of things that needed to be thrown out.

"It'll look good," Rick promised.

But Michonne didn't care about how it looked. "It's private," she said to Rick, her brown eyes glinting.

Rick grinned, thrilled that they were on the same page. "Yes, it is. I'll let you know what time."

He readjusted the deer on his shoulders and turned his attention to Aaron. "Come on. I'll teach you how to skin this."

"Oh God," Aaron whined.

"You said you wanted to learn. I only asked you to come with me," Rick reminded him as they headed inside of the community.

"I know, but the paralysis threw me off," Aaron said.

"I guess I'll park the truck," Michonne said to herself.

Rick had always found the process of skinning deer therapeutic, so he was thankful to be doing something so familiar. A small crowd gathered around his work station, men and women who reminisced about going hunting with their families, their former lives as vegetarians, vegans, and animal rights activists, and their favorite meals. Some walked Rick through their favorite recipes, and others talked about their least favorite dishes. What began as a desire to do something special for his favorite person turned into a bonding event with and for a good number of his people. He learned more about them, and he laughed with them like he never had before. Some got involved with helping him and Aaron skin the deer.

When Michonne joined in during her break, someone was serving lemonade, and Rick was entangled in a rowdy argument about the way venison and steak should be cooked.

"Hon, how do you want this?" he asked her.

Michonne took a sip of lemonade, knowing that she wasn't going to give the answer that he wanted. "Medium rare."

Rick nodded slowly, absorbing the fact that the woman he loved was not, in fact, perfect. "Alright. Alright. That's acceptable. More of a misdemeanor than a felony. Unlike that well-done mess you're talkin' about," he said as he turned back to his adversary.

"Oh God," Michonne said, laughing.

Rick swept the house and threw out the broken furniture. He shattered the windows that were only partially broken to make things uniform. He brought in two chairs, a round table, a few comforters, bed sheets, and an oil lamp. He felt light and excited, two feelings from which he'd been estranged.

Restocking on nice clothes was not a priority while they recovered from Negan's bombing of Alexandria, and makeup was a thing of the past, so Michonne focused on shaving, moisturizing, and doing something different with her hair. She braided it up the sides of her head, creating a faux-hawk. She fussed with the small pompadour at the front until it stopped looking off-center.

As she descended the stairs to meet Rick outside of their front door, she was surprised at the nervous twittering in her stomach.

In front of the door, she placed a calming hand over her stomach, took a deep breath, and opened it. Her stomach somersaulted at the sight of him. He didn't look much different. His beard was trimmed, and he smelled fresh from a shower. His curly hair was still damp but brushed back. She found him at his handsomest when he was fresh from a shower. His presence filled the room more than usual, and he always looked…new. Clean and crisp.

She gave him a long kiss that teased a moan out of him. Their lips separated inch by inch, and she opened her eyes.

"Well, hi," he said.

"Hi," she answered, smiling.

"You look beautiful."

"Thank you. You're very handsome. Really hot. We could just go back inside..."

"I don't think so. I caught that dinner with my bare hands and then slaved over it. You're eatin'."

Michonne rolled her eyes, amused. " _Fine_."

He kissed her knuckles which brought forth more fluttering and twittering. "Come on," he beckoned. "I like your purse," he joked, observing the katana strapped to her back.

"And the gloves are in my pocket. You never know."

"I've got two guns stashed in the house, so we'll be good."

There were eyes and smiles on them as they headed toward the gate, and Aaron gave them the thumbs up as he walked past with a dozing Gracie.

The sun had set, so Rick already had the lamp going when he opened the door for her. The lamp couldn't illuminate the whole room, but what it did show made Michonne forget her randy thoughts when she stepped inside.

"You really cleaned this place up," she said.

"At some point we're going to have to do something with it," he said, his arm around her waist.

"We could keep it as a date spot for folks," she suggested with a shrug.

"Those folks ain't datin'," he said skeptically.

Michonne cracked up. " _Rick,_ " she chided.

"I'm serious," he said, chuckling as he stepped behind her to remove the katana. "I know a few of them are getting' down, but I don't think anyone's _dating_. Speaking of getting' down," he said, rubbing her shoulders as he guided her to their table, "I haven't told you what a very smart idea it was to have Negan in the meeting."

Michonne frowned, confused as to why he wanted to bring that up now, especially when he was layering titillating kisses on her neck. The community meeting was old, old news. "You did tell me," she said, her eyes fluttering close.

"I told you it was a great idea," he said against her neck as his hands began to explore her body, "But it was smart and cunning. You knew exactly how to get through to them. You got in their heads and demystified him-"

Michonne pried his hands off her breasts and turned to face him. "Rick? I'm sure that venison tastes delicious-"

" _Sit_ and eat it," Rick cut her off.

"This is cruel," she said, getting in his face. "This is cruel and unusual punishment, and you're doing it on purpose."

"I just wanna feed you," Rick said, as he rubbed down her arms.

Michonne wanted to wipe the grin from his face. She would tell him to stop touching her if she didn't want him to touch her so badly.

"Come on." He patted her butt and moved to pull out her chair.

Back straight, Michonne took a modest seat. "You got wine," she remarked in surprise as she grabbed the bottle of Pinot Noir.

"Yep." Rick took the bottle from her and filled their glasses. He uncovered their plates and then took his seat.

He'd prepared a scrumptious spread of venison steak, leek, carrots, tomatoes, and mushrooms. She got goosebumps when she saw the covered dessert in the glass plate next to them: an assortment of candies and chocolate.

"Rick," she said softly, placing a hand on her chest.

"I think we need this," he said as he covered her other hand. "These months haven't been easy, and sometimes we've been impatient with each other as we try to…accept the unimaginable. Despite the lows, you've been there for me. I never felt like you weren't, and I hope I was what you needed, too."

"You were," she confirmed softly.

"I wouldn't want to go through this with anyone else either," he said, recalling her words in the kitchen from a week and a half ago. "I want you to enjoy yourself tonight and every day going forward."

"I'm _trying_ to enjoy myself," she said, which made him laugh.

He kissed her palm and said, "Dig in."

Michonne considered him a moment as the wheels turned in her head. Then, she took off her tank top and bra, dropping both next to her chair.

Her breasts looked bigger than he remembered, but he was sure that was because it had been so long. Her areolas were enticing, and her nipples were the icing that he wanted to swirl with his tongue. They weren't hard, but he knew they would be downright majestic when they were.

"Can't wait," Michonne quipped.

For a moment, he thought she'd read his mind, but he realized she was talking about dinner when she grabbed her fork and knife. Rick covered his mouth with his fist. Now, his control was really going to be tested.

"Okay. Okay. You want to play games," he surmised.

"I've been direct this entire time," Michonne argued, eyes on the task of cutting her venison. "Hell, I'm direct right now."

She looked at him and smiled. And jiggled her breasts.

Rick's cheeks twitched, betraying his desire. His dick was fast becoming aware of what he was looking at, and the last thing he needed was for it to become as impatient as Michonne.

"You're a tease, Richard," she judged sultrily.

"Only one of us is sitting here half naked," he replied.

"Having all your clothes on doesn't mean you're not a tease. You're the biggest tease in here."

Rick grinned. He wasn't going to deny that he liked driving her crazy, whether that meant kissing her senseless or making her wait. Both gave him a rush.

They had each other in stitches during the date, sharing the gossip they'd accumulated from the community when they'd been walking around like zombies, weighed down by their grief. They laughed loudly and endlessly, filling the room with a happiness that would've made Carl proud. They didn't talk about the serious stuff like Oceanside, Negan, Hilltop, or the assistance that Kingdom had recently requested. They enjoyed each other's company and took pleasure in throwing each other into fits of laughter.

And through it all, Rick was winning their little standoff. He leered at Michonne's breasts with the hunger that stirred inside of him. During many of her stories, his eyes were fastened on her breasts instead of her face as he nodded and responded, "Mmm-hmm."

Michonne's nipples were as hard as obsidian. She finished her second helping of wine and set the glass down a little too hard. Rick was slouched back in his chair, a bit more buzzed than her and looking like something she wanted to ride, looking like he was having all sorts of illicit thoughts about her even though she was sitting across from him, available, willing, and ready.

"You're _hot_ ," he drawled.

"Prove it."

He smirked, and she closed her eyes to steel herself against it. She was perfectly capable of taking matters into her own hands, but, sometimes, she liked the torture.

Rick stood and replanted his chair a few paces from the table. Michonne's eyes drifted to the hard lump that had been concealed by the table. Her fingers twitched.

"Come here," Rick beckoned, lust in his cobalt eyes.

"Finally," she griped as she left her seat. When she stopped in front of him, she took the liberty of taking off her shoes and jeans, much to his laughing delight. Rick grabbed her thighs and helped her straddle him. He grabbed both of her breasts and stuffed one in his mouth, finally satiating his other appetite. He sucked the plump flesh the way he made out with her mouth. He was attentive and generous, lighting flames along her sensitized skin and reminding her why patience was a virtue. He attached his talented mouth to her other breast, and Michonne expelled a trembling breath. Her fingers threaded through his curls, and her other hand caressed his arm while he fed on her erected nipple. He lightly bit her, making her pussy clench in search of something hard and girthy.

Rick pushed her breasts together and alternated the wet flick of his tongue between her nipples. He mouthed the fleshy inside of her breasts and licked up the valley. His favorite part of Michonne's body was whatever part he had in his mouth at the time.

"Your turn, your turn," she said breathlessly.

Rick exhaled and finger-combed his hair, his lips still tingling from the taste of her flesh. Michonne dropped to her knees and undid his pants. As Rick lifted so that she could slide everything down to his ankles, he glanced at the windows. They were hidden from the folks who were on duty at the top of the gate, but depending on how loud things got, their voices would surely carry.

Michonne brought his attention back to her. He realized belatedly that she always did so without effort. She showered his stiff shaft with kisses, building him up even higher than he already was after reacquainting himself with her magnificent breasts. Her meticulous lips made his stomach flutter. He cursed under his breath when her tongue snaked out in search of his balls.

He begrudgingly disrupted her and got rid of his shoes and his pants so that he could get more from her. He propped his foot against the table, better exposing his balls and giving her easier access.

"Mmm," Michonne moaned before she dove in, lightly sucking the sensitive area and pulling long groans out of him when she put the sack in her mouth. She'd missed how he tasted and took her time making him squirm.

She suckled on his balls, nourishing herself like he'd done on her nipples, and Rick's eyes rolled. "Michonne," he exhaled, her name itself an aphrodisiac.

She looked up at him and sucked a little harder. The wanton sight of her with his jewels crowding her mouth was gasoline on his arousal, and his dick twitched as he leaked pre-come.

"You're so sexy," he whispered.

"Mmm-hmmm," she goaded him.

"Get up here. Now."

Michonne stood, and he brought his leg down and roughly pulled her underwear aside and used it to drag her forward. She loved it when he got like this. She would've spent the rest of the night on her knees if he'd commanded it.

After a period of grief-stricken celibacy, coming together was like drinking a cold glass of water: satisfying and revitalizing. Rick gripped an ass cheek when she started to bounce. She was a miscellany of bouncy tits, contorted expressions, and exposed mound. Rick didn't know where to focus, and it was the most gratifying dilemma. Her fucking him was downright soothing after so many days of foreplay.

Her underwear was still trapped in his fist. The sight reminded Michonne of his power and confidence, how he could be downright tyrannical if the stakes were high enough and he was under enough pressure. He was a visionary who carried too much weight on his shoulders and his heart on his sleeve, and she was riding him like a prized horse, the sound of their skin slapping together helping to push her closer and closer.

She touched her forehead to his and cried out sharply when she came, her thighs burning as she suspended halfway down his dick and gyrated.

"There you go, there you go," Rick spoke thickly as he looked into her eyes.

Michonne dropped down on his thighs and relaxed her vice grip on his shoulders. Laughter bubbled out of her as she tried to catch her breath. She got back on her knees and took him in her mouth. She sucked off the mouthwatering mixture of her juices and his pre-come, in search of what was his and his alone.

Her mouth fit his dick like a warm glove, a sensation that Rick had almost forgotten. He was happy to get a refresher on how talented she was. He held her forearms and moaned longingly as she deconstructed him, stripping him down to his bare essence. All of the kissing, teasing, intimacy, and her being all around sexy came to a head as he drove his hips up and emptied his balls into her hungry mouth.

Michonne gently sucked along his shaft while he settled back onto earth. He'd told her long ago that he preferred prolonged contact after fellatio.

Rick tilted her chin up and kissed her, and then he rubbed his nose against hers, which made her smile.

"I love this," she said. "Thank you for putting it together."

"You're welcome."

Michonne stood and took off her underwear. Rick unbuttoned his shirt as he went to peak out of a window. He listened closely while doing a visual scan. He only heard crickets and the unintelligible chatter of the two people who were on watch at the gate. He didn't see anything moving in the moon-drenched blackness that wasn't supposed to be moving. Satisfied that things were secure, he dropped the shirt on the floor and returned to his date.

Michonne had already taken her spot on the blankets. Rick went to the lamp, and Michonne watched him walk, eyes zeroing in on his ass and strong thighs, already looking forward to round two. Likewise, Rick turned from the table to find her lying about like an offering, her fingers ghosting over her clit.

"That's mine," he informed her as he approached.

Michonne shivered. "Then come and get it," she said as she splayed her legs open.

Rick set the lamp on the floor and took his place.

"Show me how you treat what's yours," Michonne murmured.

Rick removed her fingers from the berry and did exactly that.


End file.
